


Sweet and Spicy

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, Non-NHL!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: Based onthis postfromomgpromptsplease: Jack keeps buying cakes from his local bakery in an attempt to talk to the cute guy working at the register. Unfortunately, it's an erotic bakery and Jack's running out of excuses quickly.





	Sweet and Spicy

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Language, many mentions of erotic baked goods and the things that might appear on them, a few instances of gendered language relating to erotic baked goods, a shocking lack of actual erotica given the concept, mentions of past Jack/Kent and Jack/Camilla, background Shitty/Lardo, unbetaed. 
> 
> **Author's Note** : I've had this prompt bookmarked for a long time and finally decided to do something about it. Please note that Tater's birthday is mentioned, but I have no idea if we know when Tater's birthday actually is. I had a lot of fun writing this and hope you enjoy! ♥

**LARDO**

“Wow,” Jack says when he meets up with Lardo for lunch, taking in her peaked face, oversized sunglasses, and haggard expression. “I thought you were planning the party last night, not having it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lardo mutters. “We decided to stop at the bar after, so…” She lets her voice trail away and flaps a hand, like that explains everything.

Jack snorts and holds the restaurant door for her.

He’d had to miss the group dinner that had doubled as Lardo’s bachelorette planning meeting because it had coincided with parent-teacher conferences. They’re always an awkward affair for him: most parents don’t know what to ask, since he teaches PE, and there are always a few overbearing ones — usually fathers — who want to know what Jack is doing to push their children to greater levels of athletic prowess. Jack hates those conversations most of all, and he still isn’t as good as he’d like to be at redirecting them.

In any case, he’s glad that they’re over and that he’s having lunch with Lardo instead of facing another question about why his curriculum doesn’t include more football or less yoga.

After they’re seated and the server has taken their order, Lardo pulls a notebook printed with rubber ducks out of her bag. She flips it open and starts scanning through several pages of notes that start out legible, get markedly messier as they go on, and devolve into some frankly worrying sketches. “All right,” she says, sounding more businesslike than Jack had expected, “we’re going to start with sandwiches at Cam’s place for lunch, then hit the zoo for a few hours. I scored us tickets for their Roars and Pours wine tasting thing that night. It starts at 5:30 and goes until 7, at which point we’ll retire to the bar for some less sophisticated fun. Rans and Holtzy said they’d reserve the game room for us so I can school everyone’s asses at pong all night.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack replies mildly.

“’Swawesome. We assigned you —” she runs her finger down the page, then taps it “— reserving parking passes for the zoo and ordering the cake.”

Jack nods. “I can do that.”

Lardo arches an eyebrow at him. “Sweet. I expected more of an argument. I can text you the name and address of an erotic bakery that’s, like, six blocks from your apartment. I had no idea —”

“Wait,” Jack interjects. “Wait, wait, wait. Did you say _erotic_ bakery?”

“Well, yeah,” Lardo says, “it’s a bachelorette party. The cake’s gotta have a giant schlong on it. Or be a giant schlong. It’s tradition.”

“You don’t care about tradition,” Jack points out. If there’s one word that definitely doesn’t describe Lardo and Shitty’s wedding, it’s _traditional_. They’re getting married at the gallery where Lardo works as an assistant, because they can get it at a fraction of the cost. Instead of identifying groomsmen and bridesmaids, they’re having one big, blended wedding party. There’s no dress code, except that clothes are required — much to Shitty’s chagrin, Jack is sure. The reception will be at a bar that’s attached to a bowling alley, where they’ll be able to rent shoes at half price and eat greasy bar food to their hearts’ content. Over half of Shitty’s family has refused to attend, and the only way he could be more thrilled is if the other half backed out too.

Even the bachelor and bachelorette parties aren’t traditional — rather than have separate events, Lardo and Shitty are just having two parties for everyone. Lardo’s planning the first one and Shitty’s planning the second.

In response to Jack pointing this out, Lardo shrugs. “It’s my party and I want a dick cake.”

“Okay, fine,” Jack concedes. “Why do I have to buy it?”

“You don’t _have_ to,” Lardo says philosophically.

Jack sighs. “I mean, why are asking _me_? Why me, specifically?”

“Because you know what a good dick looks like,” she replies, and Jack chokes on his sandwich.

After he’s recovered from _that_ , with the help of several sips from his water glass, he says, “I know I’m not the only person in the wedding party who can be a judge of that.”

Lardo looks far too amused and smug. “There’s no, like, nefarious reason, bro. Everyone wanted to do other stuff, no one wanted to do this, so —” she shrugs again “— you’re getting voluntold. If you really don’t want to, I’ll get someone else. Or I’ll order it myself.”

And Jack can’t have that. It might not be a standard bachelorette party, but it _is_ Lardo’s bachelorette party, and she shouldn’t have to lift a finger to plan it. “Fine,” he sighs. “Send me the address.”

*

When Jack arrives at the bakery, there’s not much in the window to tip him off about what he’ll find inside. All that greets him is a sign with the name of the place — _Sweet and Spicy_ — and smaller letters underneath that read _Erotic Cake Bakery_. There's a tagline too: _Get a piece!_

 _Okay_ , Jack thinks, _this is definitely it_.

He steps in, setting a bell mounted above the door jingling. There’s a counter on the other side of the store, but no one behind it. A voice calls out “Be right with you!” from somewhere in the depths of the building, so Jack waits, taking the opportunity to look around. What he discovers isn’t what he expects. The bakery looks… normal.

Well, not _normal_ , necessarily. It’s tiny, for one. Jack hasn’t been in a lot of bakeries, but none of them has been as small as this. This is also the only bakery he’s visited that has a wall display of bachelorette party favors: at just a glance, Jack sees penises on sunglasses, necklaces, drinking straws, and headbands. There’s a small bakery case too, featuring two rows of cupcakes, each topped with a surprisingly realistic breast, and cookies in the shape of female torsos wearing artfully-piped lingerie. Jack stares at it all dumbly, then he forces his gaze to dart, trying not to seem like he’s staring too long at any one thing.

The bakery clerk, when he does appear, doesn’t look anything like Jack would have expected either. He looks — Jack’s not even sure how to explain it to himself. Pleasant, maybe. Friendly. Sunny. Wholesome? Basically the opposite of anything that comes to mind when Jack hears the words _erotic cake bakery_.

He’s cute too, as if Jack weren’t feeling awkward enough already.

“Hi!” he greets Jack brightly. “Welcome to Sweet and Spicy. How can I help you today?”

Jack rubs at the back of his neck. “I, um — need to order a cake?”

“I can definitely help you with that,” the clerk says, producing a thick binder from behind the counter. He flips it open and uses the plastic tabs within to find the section he wants, then spins the whole thing towards Jack. “Let me guess — bachelor party?”

The move puts a glossy picture of a cake right under Jack’s nose, one with a woman’s chest busting out of a skimpy bra. There are even molded nipples on top. _Wishing you all the breast_ , it reads.

“Oh, uh. No,” Jack replies. “It’s for a bachelorette party, actually.”

He doesn’t miss the way the clerk’s eyebrows quirk up for a split second, before he schools them back into submission. “And the bride — doesn’t want this style of cake?”

It’s a tactful way to ask the question. And actually, as far as Jack knows, Lardo might be fine with a boob cake, but… “She specifically requested —” Jack pauses, considers “— um, male anatomy?” He cringes as soon as the words are out. Shitty would give him an earful for assuming that penis equals male, but what is Jack supposed to do? Just say penis in front of a cute stranger? Or even worse, dick or cock?

The clerk flips through the binder’s plastic pages. “Okay, well, we definitely have a lot to choose from in that area. We’d be happy to do something custom, as well, if you have other ideas. Oh! And we also offer a few varieties of penis pops, but we haven’t added any pictures to our sample book yet. I can find some on my phone if you want to see them. They’ve been very popular lately.”

Okay, so apparently he doesn’t share Jack’s same reticence to use certain vocabulary.

“Penis pops?” Jack asks tentatively, feeling himself flush. “Like… lollipops?”

With a sweet little laugh, the clerk says, “Oh, no. Although we do have a few of those to choose from over on the wall, next to the light-up penis champagne glasses.” He points. Jack doesn’t look. “We make cake pops. They’re like mini cakes on a stick,” he adds, probably in response to Jack’s confusion, which must be written all over his face.

As much fun as everyone would probably have with dicks on a stick, Jack doesn’t want to stray too far from Lardo’s original request. “Probably just one big cake,” he says, glancing down at the binder. The one on display features a large, veiny cock with a hand wrapped around it. _To have and to hold_ , it reads. Jack flips a few more pages. _A good man is hard to cum by. He finally asked for your hand — his must be tired! The best is yet to cum_. Each cake has at least one penis on it, sometimes more, some lying flat on the cake, some actually standing erect. “These are very… detailed.”

“We take pride in delivering a quality product,” the clerk replies, and he actually does sound proud. “See anything you like?”

Jack’s head jerks up. “What?”

“The cakes,” says the clerk, nodding at the binder. His eyes, when he meets Jack’s, are guileless. And really big and brown. “Is there anything you’d like to order?”

All at once, Jack is overwhelmed with the feeling that he is _absolutely_ the wrong person for this job. All of the cakes are clever, and all of the penises on them look… fine. How is he supposed to know which one is best, or funniest, or whatever other criteria someone would use to judge an erotic cake? “I guess this one,” he finally answers, tapping the page the binder is open to, the one that reads _the best is yet to cum_. There’s a dick on it with white frosting at the tip like jizz.

“Great choice!” the clerk exclaims, reaching for an order pad. “Let’s talk details.”

“Details?” Jack echoes. He'd thought all the decisions had already been made.

“Don’t worry,” the clerk says, with a reassuring smile that shoots something electric and unnerving straight to the pit of Jack’s stomach. “I’ll walk you through it.”

“Thanks,” Jack replies, and for the first time, he glances down at the clerk’s name tag. “…Bitty?”

The clerk — Bitty — rolls his eyes with a wry smile. “It’s a nickname, and certainly not the best one for this job. But I’ll tell you this: it’s better than what my mama calls me.”

Jack can’t help but be intrigued by that. “Which is what?”

“Oh no,” Bitty says, “that’s privileged information. You have to work a lot harder than that.” He slides a laminated sheet of paper across the counter. “So, let’s talk size.”

“Size?” Jack asks fearfully. “Don’t you just make it — fit the cake?”

Bitty’s eyes go wide and then he lets out a snorted laugh, like he’s trying to stifle it. “I mean _cake size_ ,” he explains, his face awash in mirth. He points to a chart on the page he’d passed over. “How big do you want the cake to be? We can do up to a twelve-inch round, which serves forty to fifty, or a full sheet cake would be good for up to seventy-two people.”

“ _Merde_ ,” Jack hisses, scrubbing his hands over his face, but he can’t help chuckling too. “Right. Cake size.”

It breaks the ice, anyway, and Jack feels a little more comfortable as he selects the flavors for the cake (marble, because it’s the best of both worlds) and the frosting (chocolate, because it seems pretty universal). He chooses a color for the lettering (yellow, because Lardo loves baby ducks and chickens), and then Bitty asks him, businesslike, “And what about the skin tone?”

“The skin tone?” Jack parrots.

“For the decoration.” Bitty taps his pen against the sample picture, right over the penis on the cake.

“Oh,” Jack says. “Well, the groom is white, so I guess white?”

Bitty makes a note on the order form. “Caucasian, got it.” He glances up. “Is there a picture you’d like me to try and replicate?”

Once again, Jack finds himself repeating Bitty’s words back as a question. “A picture?”

“Of the groom?”

Jack’s eyes flare wide. “Uh — no. I don’t have a picture of — it. Is that, um… usually how it’s done?”

Bitty shrugs. “I wouldn’t say it’s _usual_ , but you’d be surprised by the requests we get around here. And you mentioned that you want to go with the groom’s skin tone, so I wasn’t sure if you were looking for everything to match.”

“Oh,” Jack says, “no. It doesn’t need to look the same, and I definitely don’t have a picture. I could describe it if I had to, but I don’t think that’s going to be —” He cuts himself off when Bitty’s eyes dart up to meet his and a bemused, curious look settles over his face. “I mean — no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What y’all get up to is none of my business,” Bitty replies, holding up his hands in innocence. “As long as the bride is okay with it.”

“It’s really not like that,” Jack insists. And then, once again, he starts to ramble. He’s not normally a nervous rambler, but he can’t exactly call a visit to the erotic bakery to buy a penis cake a normal circumstance. Especially not when the clerk looks just like Jack’s type. “I just meant that he likes to hang out naked. Believe me, everyone’s seen him. We’ve never — done that. He probably wouldn’t want to anyway. He’s straight. He says he’s straight.”

And well, that’s one way to let the cute erotic bakery clerk know that you’re into guys. Jack just wishes he’d managed to do it in a way that _didn’t_ make him want to throw himself out the display window at the front of the store.

Bitty’s still watching him, his expression edging away from confusion and towards surprise. Then it clears. “So, what I’m gathering from this is we’re not trying to recreate the decoration from a picture?” he asks, sounding like he could be asking for Jack’s shoe size instead of verifying that he doesn’t want an exact replica of his friend’s dick in fondant.

“Right,” Jack confirms, and he manages to finish placing the order without rambling any further about Shitty’s genitals or his own sexuality — thank god for small favors.

Then it’s over, and Jack pays half of the price of the cake as a deposit, and Bitty gives him a copy of his order and confirms that Jack can pick it up the day before Lardo’s party.

Jack nods as he folds up his receipt and shoves it into his pocket. “Do I pick it up from you?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

“If I’m the one working, then sure thing, you can absolutely pick it up from me,” Bitty replies brightly.

It could be a deflection. Jack thought he’d picked up a hint of interest, but either way, it doesn’t really matter. He’s is pretty sure it’s bad manners to hit on someone at their place of work. It’s probably twice as bad if that place of work is an erotic bakery. “Got it,” he says. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“That’s what I’m here for! You have a good day now, Jack.”

“You too.”

That’s it, or so Jack thinks. Just as he’s pushing the door open, he hears Bitty add, “If you did want to pick the cake up from me, I work until two on Fridays.”

Jack glances back toward the counter, where Bitty is still hovering, looking a little pink and uncertain. “Okay,” Jack replies, his heart lurching a little in his chest. “I’ll see you then.”

*

Jack does see Bitty when he picks up the cake. It just doesn’t go anything like he’d imagined it might. The deviation from fantasy becomes apparent from the get-go, when Jack walks into the bakery to discover that he’s not the only customer. There are two women at the counter, Jack’s age if not a little younger, poring over the sample cake binder. Bitty is assisting them, holding up his phone to show them a picture of — something. “Oh my god,” one woman says to the other. “We _have_ to order some of those.”

The penis pops, Jack thinks.

Bitty meets his eyes over one of the woman’s shoulder and smiles. “Jack, hi! I’ll be with you in just a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack replies. Both women glance at him — one does a double take, which makes Jack uneasy even though she’s probably just checking him out — but they ignore him again just as quickly. He’s not sure what to do with himself, so he pulls out his phone and starts looking at scores from the previous night’s baseball games.

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Bitty pass over the same laminated sheet he’d used with Jack. He points out a few of the options and then leaves the women to make their decisions while he heads toward the door behind the counter. “Wait right there,” he instructs, nodding at Jack.

Jack waits. The women flip through the binder, talking in low voices and laughing.

Bitty reappears a few seconds later, carrying a plain cake box. He sets it on the counter and lifts the lid to let Jack see the finished product. It looks even more amazing than the pictures had, and the sweet, tempting scent of baked goods and chocolate buttercream wash over Jack, making him wish he didn’t have to wait until the next day to have a taste. He looks back up to tell Bitty as much —

Which is when he notices that the two women have sidled over to peer at the cake as well. One of them is giggling. “That’s hilarious.”

The other, the same one who had given Jack a once-over, looks at him speculatively and says, “It smells awesome too.”

Jack clams up, but he manages to shoot Bitty a brief smile. “It’s great, thanks.”

“My pleasure, sugar,” Bitty replies, but his enthusiasm seems to dim, just a tiny bit.

It’s not how Jack had envisioned any of this going, but what can he do about it? He’s not going to wait out the two women, who clearly haven’t even started to finalize their order yet. He doesn’t have any plausible reason to leave the cake and come back for it later. So he pays the remainder of his balance for it, thanks Bitty again, and leaves.

Maybe that should have been the end of it.

  


**SHITTY**

That’s not the end of it.

At first, the reminders of Bitty are tangible. The cake is a huge hit at the bachelorette party, and even Jack, who likes to eat more healthfully than most of his friends, devours two pieces and all but licks the crumbs off his plate. Lardo pushes him to take some leftover cake home, so naturally he thinks of Bitty when he enjoys it the next day. And then again the day after that, when he realizes how disappointed he is that the cake is gone.

It’s when Bitty doesn’t fade entirely from his mind even then that Jack really takes notice.

Jack knows he should just shake it off. He probably won’t see Bitty ever again; it isn’t like he has any reason to. There are certainly other cute people out there. Jack hasn’t dated anyone in a while, but he isn’t crying into his pillow about it at night night about it. He’s perfectly content with his job and his friends and their ragtag hockey league.

But it only takes a hint of a suggestion from somewhere in his subconscious to make him realize that he could see Bitty again, if he had a reason to.

Like Shitty’s bachelor party.

The opportunity presents itself almost naturally one night when he and Shitty meet up to grab a beer after work. They’re nattering over the plans for his bachelor party, scheduled for the weekend after next, when Shitty turns the conversation to food. And Jack finds himself saying, almost like he’s listening to someone else, “You should get a cake from that place that Lardo did.”

“Fuck, brah, that is an _excellent_ idea. That is easily the best dick I’ve ever had,” Shitty replies, which Jack is pretty sure is a joke. Shitty gives him a sidelong glance. “What about you? You ever had a better dick?”

“No comment,” Jack says mildly.

Shitty guffaws. “You are no fun whatsoever, Jackalope. It was a fucking good cake though.”

“I can order one for you if you want,” Jack offers. “The bakery is right over by my apartment.”

“Yeah?” Shitty pauses, considering. “Was it pretty expensive?”

Jack shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know how Sweet and Spicy’s pricing compares to any other bakery. It’s not like he orders a lot of custom cakes. Plus the cake tasted fantastic and the penis decoration was high quality; it’s definitely worth paying a fair price. “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

“You have a warped view of the value of money since your folks are fucking loaded,” Shitty points out, and okay, he’s not entirely wrong, but it’s not like Shitty’s parents are destitute. Not that it matters, because Jack knows that Shitty isn’t about to ask them for money for an erotic cake.

Shitty takes a thoughtful swig of his beer and continues, “Funds for this shindig are dwindling. It’s not cheap to throw two parties and a wedding, you know? And I’m still paying off law school, so it’s not like I’m rolling in it.”

Sensing that his opportunity might be slipping away, Jack blurts, “I’ll pay for it.”

Shitty shakes his head right away. “Jack, I’m not taking your money for this. Or your parents' money, if that’s where it’s coming from. I’m not having Bad Bob Zimmermann cough up a few bucks so I can have a cake with boobs on it, or whatever.”

“Think of it like a wedding gift,” Jack offers.

“You haven’t already gotten me a wedding gift?” Shitty asks shrewdly, narrowing his eyes.

Jack knows he’s been caught. “Yeah, I did,” he admits.

“So then I’m not letting you blow a wad of cash on a boob cake when you already bought something.”

Which is when Jack finds himself saying, “It’s not _that_ much. Maybe they have a special or something. Like a discount on the bachelor and bachelorette cakes for the same wedding. I think I saw a sign about it.”

It’s a lie. There was no sign. Jack’s pretty sure this just got creepy.

Shitty looks suspicious — and rightfully so, Jack thinks. “Why do you care so much about this?” he asks, watching closely for Jack’s reaction.

Even though Shitty is his best friend, Jack feels hesitant to share the real reason he’s pressing the issue. Shitty would be excited, of course, but he’d be _too_ excited. He’d interrogate Jack for every detail, push Jack to do things that he’s not sure he’s ready for. Not only would he allow Jack to buy him a boob cake, he’d come up with a million excuses for Jack to buy baked goods featuring every body part imaginable. It would all be done with the best of intentions — Jack is well aware of that — but he doesn’t want that kind of pressure. Not yet. He’ll let Shitty freak out about it later. If there’s anything to freak out about.

In response to Shitty’s question, Jack shrugs. He’s really not sure what kind of excuse will satisfy Shitty. “The cake was just really good, that’s all.”

“Is this some kind of fucked-up healthy eating thing?” Shitty asks. “Jack, it’s okay to admit you have a sweet tooth. I know you’re all about” — he switches into a terrifying approximation of Jack’s accent — “ _food is fuel_ and teaching your kids about nutrition and shit, but you can enjoy a piece of cake every once in a while, y’know? Quit being weird about it and fucking buy one, then.”

Jack huffs out a relieved chuckle and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

*

He doesn’t delay, and not just because he’s eager to see Bitty again. The bachelor party is just over a week away, and now Jack knows that he can’t just waltz in and order a cake the day before. It’s raining when he heads back to Sweet and Spicy, which is probably a good thing; it forces him to hurry, instead of taking time to dawdle and worry. But he still does, even as he rushes down the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched: what if Bitty isn’t even working? If he works Fridays, then it only stands to reason that there are other days or times when he _doesn’t_ work.

Well, if that’s the case, Jack will just order his boob cake and go.

He ducks into Sweet and Spicy and pushes back his hood, shaking his arms to dislodge some of the rain clinging to his jacket and wiping his wet feet on the rug inside the door. And when he’s done with that and lifts his head — Bitty is there, behind the counter, smiling in welcome. Suddenly it feels like the clouds are parting.

“Jack, hi!” he says warmly, and Jack’s stomach fizzes. “Back so soon? I hope there was nothing wrong with the cake.”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Jack reassures him. He approaches the counter sheepishly. “I want to order another one.”

One of Bitty’s eyebrows tilts up. “You need another erotic cake? So soon?”

Jack’s well aware of how strange it sounds, and he’s quick to explain: “Everyone loved the first one.” And that much is true. “And now the groom wants one for the bachelor party.” That part might be an exaggeration.

Bitty looks simultaneously pleased and suspicious. “Don’t they usually have those on the same night?”

“Maybe,” Jack says with a shrug, “but Lardo and Shitty aren’t really doing the usual thing. They’re just having two parties for everyone. She planned one and he planned the other one.”

He’s not even sure that Bitty took in any of that, because he’s been blinking in confusion since Jack started talking. “I’m sorry, what are the bride and groom’s names? And which one is which?”

It probably does sound weird. “Lardo’s the bride,” Jack explains. “Her real name is Larissa. It’s a nickname. Shitty is too, but he really just hates his name, so he goes by Shitty instead.”

“What name could possibly be so bad that _Shitty_ is the better option?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Jack retorts, and he’s rewarded with a smile from Bitty as he drags the thick sample book over to where Jack is standing.

“Well,” Bitty says, “we can’t have that. I assume we’re not shopping in the same section of the catalog as last time?”

He opens the binder, back to the _wishing you all the breast_ cake. Jack starts turning the pages. _Tits almost the BIG day. Breast wishes. Tits the final countdown._ A skillfully crafted vagina on a cake that reads simply _eat me_. The silence feels awkward while Bitty watches him look, and Jack casts around for something to say. “These are all really —” he flips rapidly through his options “— artistic.”

Bitty preens. “Thank you. I’ve been working on my airbrushing, and I think I’m really getting better.”

“Wait.” Jack glances up at him. “You make these?”

“Do you think I’m just here to run the cash register?” Bitty asks playfully. There are no other customers in the bakery, and he’s leaning forward on his elbows, glancing up at Jack as he speaks. Jack is at least twenty-five percent sure he’s being flirted with. Maybe thirty. Then again, Bitty could just be friendly. “I’ll have you know that I have a culinary arts degree. Baking and pastry.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Bitty confirms with a hum. “But I’ve been baking since I was knee high to a grasshopper.”

He exaggerates the twang in his voice when he says it, which makes Jack smile. “I think that means you started young.”

“Sure did! But it sounds more impressive that I went to school for it.”

“I think being devoted to something and working on it for your whole life is pretty impressive.” Jack’s still resting a hand on the cake book, but he’s all but abandoned it.

“Well, when you put it like that!” Bitty says with a laugh, then his expression grows more thoughtful. “It would have been my whole entire life if I’d been born with hand-eye coordination. It’s a shame it takes so long for that to develop.”

Jack chuckles. He knows the feeling, but he isn’t ready to delve into his feelings about either his hockey career or his decision to leave it behind in favor of teaching and beer leagues, not with someone he’s conversed with for less than an hour total. He changes tracks instead, asking, “And is this what you wanted to do back then?”

“What? Bake for a living?”

“No.” Jack raps one knuckle on the binder, which is open to a picture of a cupcake display, each with a remarkable decorative vagina on top featuring a candy pearl where the clitoris would be. “Erotic baking for a living.”

Bitty trills out a laugh. “Oh my goodness, _no_. Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with my career, mind you, or with erotic baking in general, but can you imagine the looks on the church ladies’ faces if I’d told them I wanted to do this?” He gestures expansively at the sample book. “Not to mention my mama’s.”

Jack smirks, not because he knows the church ladies or Bitty’s mother, but because it seems to be expected and he doesn’t feel like he could possibly help it. “Do they know now? What you do?”

“Of course,” Bitty says pertly. “They know I work in a bakery. There’s no reason to share any of the more interesting details.”

And Jack laughs outright at that. He flips a page in the binder and asks, “So how did you end up doing this?”

Bitty wrinkles his nose. “That’s a long and boring story. To make it short, there aren’t a lot of baking jobs that make ends meet. I had a regular job at a place downtown, but it was only part time. I was trying to set up an online store — you know, to do catering orders — but it takes time to build up a reputation, and I just… well, it was getting harder and harder to make rent, and I hated to keep asking my folks for money.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh lord, _I’m_ sorry. I always do talk too much, and here I am, oversharing again.” Bitty gives him an apologetic smile. “It all worked out for the best in the end. The owner of the bakery where I had my part time job kept getting more and more orders for — well, _this_ type of cake. She didn’t want to turn them away, but she didn’t want to advertise them because her place is _real_ popular and some people get offended seeing this kind of thing.”

Jack looks up from a cake molded to look like a shapely ass wearing a tiny thong. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, hush you,” Bitty admonishes, but he’s laughing. “ _Anyway_ , she decided to open up this little place with no connection whatsoever to her main store, and she asked me to sort of manage it, so here I am!”

“Sounds like it did all work out,” Jack says, “as long as you like what you’re doing.”

“I think it’s going pretty well,” Bitty replies. He’s looking up at Jack again, coquettish almost, and Jack feels his stomach twist with a fresh shot of nerves.

Which is exactly when the door swings open behind him and he hears the sound of footsteps rushing in. “Whew, it is really coming down out there!” a voice calls out, and Jack ducks down over the sample book while Bitty straightens up with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Amber! It certainly is a frog-washer out there. Dry yourself off and I’ll go grab your cake.” To Jack, Bitty says, quieter, “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

Jack busies himself looking at the binder while Bitty disappears into the back to retrieve the woman’s order. Jack sneaks a peek at it when Bitty shows it to her — it’s a penis cake emblazoned with _A Taste of Things to Cum_. She seems delighted with it.

By the time she’s paid, another customer arrives, a woman who loiters behind Jack, clearly waiting to place an order. His stomach sinks. Bitty cheerfully tells her that he’ll be with her in a moment, then steps over to Jack, looking apologetic. “So, what’ll it be?” he asks. “Or do you need a few more minutes?”

It would seem that the time for conversation is over. Jack quickly orders a _wishing you all the breast_ cake, then impulse adds a dozen and a half boob cupcakes in assorted flavors, remembering them in the display case from his first visit to the bakery. Today, there’s a tray of cookies that have clearly been cut with a cookie cutter shaped like a heart, except they’re flipped upside down and piped to look like lingerie on breasts and asses. The customer who’s waiting doesn’t seem impatient, but Jack doesn’t want her to end up that way, especially now that he knows that Bitty manages the bakery.

And after the order is placed, Jack doesn’t have any good reason to hang around. The whole encounter feels uncomfortable, aborted and incomplete.

But there’s nothing he can do about it.

*

Bitty’s not even there when Jack goes back to pick up his order. Instead, there’s a taciturn red-headed clerk who helps him without ever once cracking a smile. Jack asks after Bitty, because he’s unable to stop himself, and the guy — whose name tag reads _Will_ — just shrugs and says, “Took the afternoon off.”

So that’s a bust.

No pun intended, Jack thinks as he carries two bakery boxes full of boobs back to his apartment.

  


**TATER**

Jack tries to just put the whole thing out of his mind. It’s not like he’s going to go back and order his third erotic cake less than six weeks.

The main problem with that plan is that he has a wedding to attend — Shitty and Lardo actually tie the knot shortly thereafter, and Jack doesn’t have a date to bring with him. Normally, he wouldn’t care about that. All of his friends are there, including every person who plays for their beer league team, so he doesn’t feel left out or alone. The reception doesn’t feature much in the way of structured dancing, so it’s not like Jack needs a partner for that. But everyone’s significant others are in attendance, and it’s a _wedding_ , for crying out loud.

It’s hard to ignore all of that, given the circumstances. The ones where Jack has a terrible crush on someone.

For a few brief moments, Jack tries to picture what the whole thing would be like if he’d brought Bitty as his date. It’s a little hard to imagine it in detail — after all, he’s only met Bitty a few times, but Bitty had been so sunny and friendly that Jack can’t believe he’d do anything but make fast friends with everyone. They’d all give Jack shit, of course, since he’s been single for so long, but that’s a given. It wouldn’t matter because Bitty would be there, next to Jack at dinner, and he’d round out Jack’s bowling team instead of one of Lardo’s unattached coworkers.

But he’s not there, so Jack has to enjoy the wedding on his own.

*

Then, either fortunately or unfortunately — Jack isn't sure — another cake opportunity presents itself.

Tater plops down next to Jack one day after practice and cheerfully demands, “You give me name of bakery you use.”

Jack blinks at him. “What?”

“For Lardo’s cake, Shitty’s cake. With” — he considers — “with body parts. Where you get?”

“Oh.” Jack goes back to yanking the tape off his socks. “It’s just a little place over by my apartment. Why?”

“Cake is _best_ ,” Tater enthuses. “Never have cake so good. I have birthday party, two weeks. Want to order.”

It would be simple enough for Jack to give him the bakery’s name and let it go at that. It would certainly be the less complicated option, not to mention the less creepy one. The path of least resistance. The one where he doesn’t have to fight a crushing wave of embarrassment at the mere thought of darkening Sweet and Spicy’s door again.

But way down deep, it isn’t really the path Jack wants to take.

“Do you want me to order it for you? So you don’t have to go out of your way?” he offers, hoping he sounds nonchalant.

Unlike Shitty, Tater doesn’t seem inclined to question Jack’s motives. He perks up immediately. “Really, you do? Not mind?”

“It’s just a few blocks from me. It’s not a problem.”

Tater grins and drops one hand on Jack’s shoulder with enough force to jostle him. Luckily, Jack has known Tater for years, so he braces himself accordingly. “Zimmboni, you best,” Tater announces. “You do big favor, and I owe you.”

Jack shakes his head. “No way. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Still, thanks,” Tater insists.

“You’re welcome. Now, what kind of cake do you want?”

Tater looks thoughtful for a moment, but in the end, he just shrugs. “Give me surprise,” he says, then laughs. “Just make sure is something I like.”

That’s a joke, and Jack knows it. Tater isn’t picky about cake flavors or the gender of his partners.

Jack smirks. “Yeah, I think I can handle that.”

*

As much as Jack wants to go back to Sweet and Spicy, he knows that he’s definitely going to feel uncomfortable when he walks in _again_. He tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that he has a very real and valid request for another one of their cakes, but it doesn’t help much. It’s weird to go to an erotic cake bakery three times in six weeks — well, technically five times, if he counts the cake pickups too. Which makes it sound even worse, so Jack quickly amends his own thoughts: it’s weird to place three orders at an erotic cake bakery in six weeks.

But he’s going to do it, and he’s going to do it in just a few minutes, because he’s only half a block from Sweet and Spicy.

When he arrives in front of the door, he spurs himself on with the reminder that he’s not going to feel any less awkward in five minutes, or in an hour, or tomorrow. He draws a deep breath and goes in.

Bitty and Will are both standing behind the counter, and they look up from where they’re huddled over some papers at the sound of the door. Jack watches as Bitty’s eyebrows lift, and a series of emotions flits across his face, too quick for Jack to really identify any of them. His expression relaxes into a smile, but it seems puzzled, and it's not as big as Jack is used to. Will remains impassive.

“Jack?”

“Um, yeah,” Jack says, reflexively tucking a hand against the back of his neck and scratching his hairline. “Hi.”

Bitty gives him an inscrutable look and gathers the paperwork into a pile. “Wait here for just one minute, Jack. I’m going to get Will started on a fresh batch of sugar cookies, then I’ll be right with you.”

He starts toward the door to the kitchen, nodding for Will to follow him. Will does, but not without saying, “Is this for that twenty-first birthday order? Because I did those already. Remember?”

“Then no,” Bitty replies, a bit tightly. “We’ll just put these ones in the display.”

“Why? We’ll never sell them before we close, and they won’t be fresh tomorrow.”

Bitty pauses in the door and huffs in a way that sounds like he’s trying to chuckle, but he’s falling short. “Just think of it as practice. Either way, will you please just join me in the kitchen for a minute?”

Will shrugs and trails after him.

That was — odd. Jack rocks on his heels and tries not to think too much about it. He glances into the display case instead, noting the selection of chocolates molded into body parts of various shapes and sizes. When Bitty reappears, he offers a wan smile. “Sorry about that, just training new staff. How are you doing today, hon?”

“I’m okay,” Jack says, because he’s way too embarrassed about being back to say he’s any better than that. And then, because he thinks it’s better to just get it out in the open, he mentions the elephant in the room: “It’s probably weird that I’m here again so soon.”

“Oh no!” Bitty’s voice is bright in a way that makes Jack think he isn’t being entirely truthful, and he winces evens as Bitty continues. “Repeat business makes the world go ‘round. How can I help you today?”

“I’ve got another friend who was at the bachelor and bachelorette parties,” Jack explains. “He’s having a birthday party in a couple of weeks, and he liked your cakes so much that he asked me to order one for it.”

It seems to mollify Bitty a bit. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that,” he says, pulling out the heavy binder from behind the counter again. Jack spins it toward himself and starts flipping to the section he wants. “Lord,” Bitty comments, “you know that book better than I do.”

“Oh,” Jack says, feeling his face heat. “I just remember seeing one that I think Tater would like…”

He trails away when he looks up to find Bitty watching him with a creased brow. “Tater?” he repeats.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname —”

“Your friends are named Lardo, Shitty, and Tater? Are you trying to pull one over on me?”

“No,” Jack is quick to reassure. “I promise. Those are the weirdest ones.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bitty says. He purses his mouth and goes a little rueful as he adds, “I suppose I’m not one to talk. What about you? There’s no way these characters can let you get away with being just _Jack_.”

Jack shrugs. “Just Jack,” he confirms, ignoring the way Tater calls him _Zimmboni_ and Shitty’s rotating stable of monikers like _Jackalope_ and _Jackie-O_ and _Jackabelle_. No one else ever calls him any of those things. “None of them ever really stick for me.”

That answer doesn’t seem to please Bitty, although Jack has no idea why. He goes wary again, and he’s watching Jack with something not unlike scrutiny. Despite that, his voice is surprisingly mild when he says, “Well, with options like Shitty and Lardo, maybe you’re the lucky one. Anyway, what can I do for you today?”

Flipping a few more pages in the binder, Jack finds what he’s looking for. It’s a sheet cake, and the decoration on top is a bed with what looks like a colorful comforter on top. It’s lumpy, with a variety of limbs sticking out from underneath and a variety of clothing scattered over everything — lacy panties and bras, boxer shorts and boxer briefs, pants, shoes. Jack thinks Tater will get a kick out of it. “This one.”

The rest of the ordering process goes smoothly — Jack _is_ something of an old pro, after all — but it’s perfunctory, and as it wraps up, Bitty asks, “Is there anything else I can get for you today?”

“No, thanks,” Jack says. _That’s probably enough erotic cakes for now_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to it.

“Sounds good, Jack. Thank you for stopping in again, and —”

He’s interrupted as Will pokes his head around the door. “Hey, Bitty? When you have a second, can you give me a hand? I think I might have measured something wrong.”

Bitty nods and turns back to Jack with an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

“Of course,” Jack replies as he away from the counter. “Thanks again.”

“Have a great afternoon,” Bitty calls, already heading for the kitchen.

So that hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Jack can’t help but wonder if Bitty had instructed Will to interrupt them and pull Bitty away when the order was complete. Then again, that might just be his anxiety talking.

He doesn’t get any answers when he stops in to pick up the cake. Will is working again, and there are other customers in the bakery. It’s probably just as well.

*

After Jack unveils the cake at Tater’s party — to general appreciation and a hearty belly laugh from Tater — Shitty pulls him aside. “Brah, is there something you want to tell me?” he asks, face serious behind his mustache.

“About what?” Jack hedges.

“About why you keep buying dirty cakes.”

Jack cast a frantic gaze around the room, like he’s going to find a way to escape the conversation. “They’re just really good,” he finally says. “Tater thought so too. He wanted one for the party, and the bakery’s just a few blocks from my apartment, so…” He lets his voice trail away, then shrugs. “I got another one.”

Shitty’s still watching him, and Jack can see that he’s not quite buying it. “That’s the only reason?”

And just like that, Jack thinks that it might be nice to tell someone, especially after his last two trips to Sweet and Spicy had been a little — unusual. “There’s a cute clerk that works there,” Jack admits.

“I _knew_ it!” Shitty crows. “I fucking _knew_ there was another reason you kept going back there. You were being all weird about it.”

It’s the reaction that Jack had been dreading, but he knows he just has to ride it out. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “you got me.”

“Fucking right, I did. Now tell me about this person.”

All at once, Jack’s annoyance at Shitty drains away. For as accepting as most of his friends are, Jack’s not sure that many of them would be so casually and unconcernedly gender neutral in asking that particular question. “Well,” Jack says, “his name is Eric, but he goes by Bitty. He’s… really nice. Friendly.”

Shitty looks unimpressed at that disclosure. When Jack doesn’t offer anything else, he deadpans, “Shit, Jack, you paint such a vivid picture in my mind.”

“Fuck off,” Jack fires back automatically. “I’m not sure what you want to know. He’s cute —”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“— shorter than me; pretty short actually —”

“Of course.”

“— blond —”

“Naturally.”

Jack pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ you have a type, Jackers.”

“I do not have a type,” Jack protests, frowning.

“Short is your type,” Shitty says. “Blond is your type.”

Jack’s glower deepens. “That’s not —

“Kent Parson.”

“He’s not _that_ —”

“Camilla Collins.”

And okay, maybe he has a point, but they’re straying pretty far from the topic. Jack sighs. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

Shitty grins; he knows he won that round. “I absolutely fucking do.”

So Jack tells it to him. All the way from Jack’s first trip to Sweet and Spicy to the last, how it felt like Bitty was into him, until it didn’t anymore. “Maybe I should just leave it alone,” Jack finishes. “It’s not like I can do anything about it while he’s at work anyway.”

“No, you can’t,” Shitty agrees. “So if you thought I was going to give you the okay to pull that shit, I’m not.”

“I didn’t,” Jack says quickly.

“Good.” Shitty takes a thoughtful sip of his beer and regards Jack with a critical — if bleary — eye. “Well, I can’t tell you what this guy is thinking. But I can tell you that you might have just caught him on a bad day. You never know what other shit is going on in someone’s life, y’know? It might have jack all to do with you.” He frowns. “Bad word choice, sorry.”

Jack huffs out a chuckle. “It’s okay. And I know. But even so, there’s still nothing I can do about it. I can’t ask him out at work or — or hit on him, or whatever.”

Shitty looks pensive. “Yeah, that’s still true. Well… what if you go back to the bakery one last time without being creepy about it? There’s no reason why you can’t swing in and buy some cookies or something, right? Then you can see if he’s cool or if he’s weird.”

“And what if he’s cool?” Jack asks, trying to tamp down on the slim tendril of hope that unfurls at the thought. “I still can’t act on it, even then.”

After a moment’s consideration, Shitty says, “I don’t know, man. Ask me sometime when I’m not halfway to fucked up.” He salutes Jack with his beer and adds, “Good luck.”

  


**JACK**

Going to Sweet and Spicy again is hard. Jack talks himself into and out of making the short trip at least a half dozen times before he actually walks the few blocks over, and he almost convinces himself to turn around just as many on the way. He keeps moving himself moving forward with a mantra: _knowing is worse than not knowing_. Even if the outcome is bad, at least he won’t have to wonder for the rest of his days what might have happened if he’d gone back one more time.

He has a story ready: he was just walking by and decided to swing in to buy a few of whatever’s on offer in the display case, because everything from the bakery has been so good. It’s barely a lie. And anyway, he doesn’t have a real excuse to buy another cake, and he doesn’t feel like inventing one, especially not after Bitty’s crack about how easily Jack can navigate the sample cake binder.

Remembering it, Jack almost turns around again. He doesn’t.

In fact, he arrives at Sweet and Spicy’s door and pushes through it before he has a chance to get any more anxious than he already is. Inside the bakery, he sees Bitty behind the counter, blessedly alone. There are no other customers and no Will, or at least he’s out of sight. It’s everything Jack could have hoped for.

Except, of course, the way that Bitty’s face goes through that complicated emotional roulette again when he sees that it’s Jack. He seems to settle on nervous, and his “Jack, hi!” comes with a fraction of his normal enthusiasm.

Jack immediately regrets every decision he’s made in his life that had led to this point. He should have just stayed away, even if he’d never know what would have happened. Then, at least, Bitty would be a wistful memory — the cute guy who for a brief, shining moment had seems as interested in Jack as Jack had been in him — instead of the wary creature in front of him, making a face that Jack’s not sure he’ll ever forget. Still, he can’t turn tail and run, so he offers a sheepish half-wave and replies, eloquently, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Bitty repeats. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

Jack hovers a few steps away from the counter. He should really spare a glance at the display case, since he’s going to be buying some of what's in it, but he’s frozen by Bitty’s obvious unease. “Is this — uh, is this a bad time?”

“Of course not,” Bitty insists, with cheer that seems entirely false. “These are business hours, aren’t they?”

“Right,” Jack says. He pauses for a moment, and just as he’s about to open his mouth to ask for some of the — mini pies with suggestive shapes cut out of the top crusts — Bitty cuts him off.

“Jack,” he starts, his face bright with color and his eyes focused, “I just wanted to say that, um… if there’s — if there’s something going on in your life, or if you need help with anything…” He’s looking down now, not meeting Jack’s eyes, as he draws something out from under the counter. It’s not the cake binder. Bitty fidgets nervously with the pamphlet before setting it down.

When Jack squints at it, he sees a phone number, and the words _counseling services_. “No,” he blurts without forethought, because _no_. He doesn’t need counseling. Well, that’s not entirely true; he has a therapist after all. But he doesn’t see her because of his erotic cake buying habits.

“It’s okay,” Bitty continues, a soothing note entering his voice. “There’s no shame in needing some help every once in a while. You’re not even the first person we’ve referred from Sweet and Spicy —”

Jack groans and lifts his hands to scrub over his face. No wonder Bitty had been growing increasingly skittish about his presence. “Bitty,” he interjects, “it’s not like that, I promise.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and Jack chances a peek at Bitty. He’s toying with the pamphlet, but he doesn’t slide it over toward Jack. “Then what is it?” he asks quietly. “This is the fourth time you’ve been here in two months. More than that, if you count every time you picked up a cake.”

So much for not making Bitty uncomfortable at work. Jack sighs, and his heart pounds, because the only thing he can do now is tell the truth. “I came here so often because I — I, um, I wanted to see you,” he admits, dropping his eyes to his shoes.

For one long, torturous moment, Jack questions whether he’d even spoken, because Bitty gives him no response. Then he hears a soft, pleased, “you did?”

Jack risks looking up, and he finds Bitty watching him, looking shy and doubtful all at once. His cheeks are adorably pink. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I did.” His own face feels hot, so he’s fairly sure they match on that score.

“Well!” Bitty says, but he doesn’t expound on that thought. He glances down at the pamphlet in his hands and then shoves it back under the counter, flushing even more deeply. “So, um…” he tangles his fingers on the counter, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and peeks up at Jack. “So you really did make it all up?”

And that — throws Jack for a loop. “What?”

“I guess the first one must have been real,” Bitty starts, and he sounds almost like he’s talking to himself more than Jack. He rambles on. “But everything since then? Your friends, Tater and _Shitty_? I always thought it sounded a little far-fetched, but I just wasn’t sure why you would make all that up. The only thing I could think of was, well —” his eyes dart toward the counter, and he’s obviously thinking of the pamphlet “— you wouldn’t have been the first one, and I’ll just leave it at that.”

When he pauses for breath, Jack blurts out, “I didn’t make any of it up!”

Bitty blinks, then his brow creases. “You didn’t?”

“No, ah —” Jack chuckles ruefully. “My friends and I all play hockey together. It’s a beer league — a rec league. Well, Lardo doesn’t. Larissa, that is. She was the one who requested the first cake, and she doesn’t play, but she manages our team. Anyway, we all have nicknames. Except me, but well, we talked about that.”

“You have a friend who willingly allows y’all to call him Shitty?” There’s still a hint of incredulity in Bitty’s voice, but a smile is spreading slowly across his face.

For maybe the first time since he’s walked in the door, Jack feels himself relax a little in the face of it. “He’d probably kill us if we didn’t,” he says.

Bitty’s grin twitches wider, then goes sweet as he glances down and back up. “And you really came in all those times to see little old me?”

Jack is sure he’s blushing again, and he feels trapped in Bitty’s gaze. “I did. Shitty wasn’t even planning on having a cake at his bachelor party, but I talked him into it. Tater _did_ want one for his birthday. He was going to order it himself, so he asked me where I’d been getting them. I pretty much jumped at the chance to get it myself instead. So… yeah.”

“And what were you going to order today?”

“Nothing,” Jack admits. “I was just going to buy whatever you had in the case.”

It seems to surprise Bitty. “You weren’t going to ask for something else?” he asks, bashful. “Like, maybe… a date? Or a phone number?”

“I wish,” Jack says, before he can think better of it. “Um. I didn’t want to put pressure on you when you were at work. It’s not a good thing to do, you know? To put you on the spot like that. You’re kind of trapped here.”

Bitty regards him with fond, impressed eyes. “Well, that’s certainly very noble.” He tilts his head, considering. “Do you feel trapped here, Jack?”

Jack feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “No.”

“Am I putting you on the spot?”

“No.”

Bitty grins at him, a brilliant beautiful expression. “Then would you like to get coffee sometime? Or dinner?”

Jack finally relaxes all the way, even as a new breed of anxious flutters takes root in his stomach. “I would love to.”

“Good,” Bitty says. He breaks eye contact to glance around the bakery. “Maybe someplace where the desserts don’t have genitals.”

Jack barks out a laugh. “That’s just fine with me.”

*

It’s not unusual for Jack to have the team over from time to time, so they don’t think anything of it when he puts out an invitation a few weeks later. Almost everyone takes him up on it, along with Lardo and various friends and siblings and significant others. As his guests trickle in, Jack’s surprised that there aren’t any comments about the upgraded snack food he has on offer, but he doesn’t mind. It’s actually better for the whole plan that way.

When most people have arrived, Jack shoots off a quick text. Then, he waits.

More accurately, he works his way toward the door to make sure that he’s the first person to hear the quiet knock that sounds a few minutes later. Jack answers it, and when he turns back to the room, he’s carrying a plain bakery box that draws general sounds of approval from the crowd. Those die out when he opens the lid to reveal a sheet cake adorned with a giant, come-drizzling dick and the words _Nice to Meat You!_ Jack bites back a smile as an awkward pall drops across the room and his friends exchange glances.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Holster who breaks the silence. He’s not exactly known for his reserve. Or his tact. “Seriously, Jack?” he asks. “Another schlong cake?”

Jack peers down at the cake, then back up at him. “Yup.”

Ransom, who’s standing at Holster’s elbow, takes a gentler approach: “Is there anything you want to talk about, dude?”

“Actually,” Jack says, “yes, there is.” He makes the mistake of glancing at Shitty then, and Shitty looks almost maniacally gleeful. Jack grins.

There’s another knock at the door, a more forceful one.

“I’ll get it!” Jack blurts, maybe too loudly, as he sidesteps a few of his quiet, startled, probably weirded-out friends. He doesn’t want anyone else to get to the door before he does, and he opens it to find Bitty, looking determined and even more jumpy than he had when he’d dropped off the cake a few minutes earlier.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey, Bits,” Jack murmurs back, giving him a private, reassuring smile before stepping back to give Bitty room to come in. After he closes the door, Jack rests one hand lightly on Bitty’s back and faces the room at large. “Everyone, this is Eric Bittle. He works at the bakery where I keep getting the cakes.”

Bitty gives a nervous little wave. “Hi, y’all. You can call me Bitty.”

He’s greeted with an array of greetings ranging from waves to shouts, and Jack overhears Holster mutter to Ransom, “Well, the cake makes a lot more sense.”

“Does it though?” Ransom asks, his eyes narrowed at Jack. “Does it?”

There are a few other suspicious or curious faces around the room, but for the most part, people turn back to what they were doing before Bitty had arrived — eating, drinking, talking, playing pool. Shitty’s still waiting, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lardo is looking from his face to Jack’s with a frown.

“ _And_ ,” Jack says loudly, drawing all the attention back to himself as he pauses. He slides his hand around to Bitty’s far shoulder to tug him closer, tucking Bitty against his side. He feels Bitty’s hand curl into the back of his t-shirt. “He’s someone I’d really like you all to meet.”

The announcement is met with silence.

Approximately ten seconds of it.

Shitty, of course, leads the ruckus that follows with an exuberant, “ _Fuck_ yeah! Whoooooo!” but it doesn’t take everyone else long to join in. They’re descending upon like Jack just knocked in a game-winner, and it’s a little overwhelming, even for Jack, who’s used to it. He keeps a firm arm around Bitty and feels Bitty keeping a firm arm around him. But every time he sneaks another glance at Bitty’s face, he’s relieved and thrilled to find Bitty still smiling.

It’s heartening, too, how happy everyone else is — happy for Jack, happy to meet Bitty. The chirping starts up right away: _is this why your ass is even more impressive than usual, Zimmermann? You’re dating a baker? Eating too much of that sweet dick?_ Bitty’s face blinks red again at that. Jack just chuckles and shakes his head. It means that they’re excited and they approve, and he hopes Bitty understands that too. At any rate, he looks amused and embarrassed, but not offended.

They slowly make their way across the room, a pilgrimage of introductions and awkward jokes and compliments on the many genitalia-related desserts that Bitty has provided for them. Jack keeps an arm or a hand on Bitty the whole time, and he’s not sure if it’s for Bitty or himself. Either way, it allows him to feel Bitty’s shoulders and back relax by increments. By the time they reach the snack table, Jack is loose and happy with relief — it all went better than he could have hoped — and it seems like Bitty is more comfortable too. Jack tugs a little on Bitty’s shoulder until he turns his face up, and they share a smile.

When they look away from each other again, they’re face to face with Shitty.

“Bits,” Jack says, giving him another squeeze, “this is Shitty. Shitty, meet Bitty.”

Shitty grins and sticks out his hand. “It is a fucking pleasure to meet you, Bitty Bits.”

“Pleased to meet you too. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Shitty’s mustache twitches. Jack waits.

“So, Bits,” Shitty starts, “Inquiring minds want to know —” he nods toward the cake and it’s huge decorative dick “— is it modeled from life?” He casts a significant look at Jack.

“Oh, lord,” Bitty groans, his face flushing once again.

Jack rolls his eyes.

After all, the inspiration for the cake is no one’s business but their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Link to tumblr post [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/184215818587/sweet-and-spicy-zimbits-fic) and dreamwidth post [here](https://luckiedee.dreamwidth.org/1761.html) :)


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